Chapter 47
CHARLOTTE
Iwoke up warm, feeling as safe as if I was in a fortress despite everything that had happened just yesterday. Part of me had wondered if I would ever really feel this way again, completely safe.
Especially after I’d learned that my dad had known who Gregory really was, but right now, wrapped in Trent’s arms with his breathing slow and steady against the back of my neck, nothing could touch me.
For a minute, I just lay there, soaking in the sensation and trying to believe that it was permanent.
Not only that Gregory was gone, but also that Trent was staying. Deep down, I hadn’t known what he’d do the day there was no more threat from the Van Allens, yet he’d made it pretty clear yesterday that between us, nothing had changed.
Except that we would have peace now. Hopefully.
I cuddled into him, inhaling deeply and smiling when I realized that this was a first, me being awake while he was still fast asleep. A faint tinge of bourbon in the air clued me in as to why, and I chuckled, but I was nice enough to do it without making a sound.
Before I’d fallen asleep last night, Trent had mentioned that Alex had asked him to meet up for a drink. I was glad they’d done it. They’d had a lot to talk about, what with them being business partners and all, but there had probably been some personal stuff too.
Alex had taken it mostly in stride when he’d realized that Trent and I shared a bed, but I was sure they’d had a few things to clear up. I just hoped Trent knew that nothing would keep me from dragging his gorgeous ass to that jet later this afternoon.
Come hell or high hangovers, I was getting us back to Texas right on schedule.
The longer I lay there, however, looking forward to going back to the place I’d started thinking of as home, the more I realized something was tugging at me. Not physically, of course, but there was something I had to do before we left.
After checking that Trent was still asleep, I eased out of bed, carefully lifting his arm and sliding out from under it. He made a low noise, his brow furrowing and his hand reaching out like he expected me to still be there, but he didn’t wake up.
“I’ll be back,” I whispered, brushing my fingertips over his shoulder before slipping into the bathroom without waking him.
Trent had handled everything. Gregory. The arguments. The threats. He’d done it all with that terrifying, beautiful certainty that made me want to trust him with every part of myself, but there was one thing he couldn’t do for me.
One thing that was my job to fix—or to turn my back on until I could figure out a better way to go about things. With that thought in mind, I dressed quickly, tied my hair back, and called for a driver.
All I needed was a little bit of luck and I would be back before Trent knew I’d ever even left. On the other hand, he’d need time this morning to pack up the few things he’d been leaving at the apartment. I doubted he’d want anything to stay behind this time.
My car was waiting at the curb when I got downstairs. I climbed in, sending the driver a polite smile but then turning toward the window. Mercifully, he took the hint and the drive across the city passed in silence.
When we pulled up to the house, I told the driver I wouldn’t be long. I wasn’t sure if it was a promise or a lie, but he merely nodded and pulled out his phone, already scrolling by the time I shut the door behind me.
The interior of my family home was quiet. Too quiet for a place normally full of brothers, staff, and the occasional bird that flew in through the wide, open windows. Everyone was either at work or avoiding the tension, it seemed.
Smart men.
I checked my dad’s office first, but when he wasn’t there, I continued down the hallway, surprised to find the door to my mother’s old study was open. I hadn’t been in that room in years.
Convinced one of the housekeepers was probably just dusting in there, I peered in just in case, pulling up short when I saw Dad inside. He was standing near the far wall with a picture frame in his hands and he didn’t turn when I stepped into the doorway.
When I finally went to stand right next to him, he didn’t look startled or even curious. It was as if he’d been expecting me.
“You look like her,” he said quietly. His voice bounced gently off shelves filled with books my mom had once adored. “Out of everyone, all our kids, you were her twin, Charlotte.”
My throat tightened instantly and he hadn’t even looked at me, just staring out the window with that photo still clutched in his hands like it held the essence of my mother. “You got every bit of her that was beautiful and good.”
The picture trembled slightly between his fingers before he set it down on the desk. I tried to recall the tirade I’d carefully constructed in my head yesterday, sharp words, questions, and accusations, but none of them stuck anymore.
They all felt flimsy now, exhausted, like even my anger knew it was running out of steam. I swallowed hard past the lump forming in my throat, trying to gather myself as I watched a dust mote floating on the ray of sunshine coming in through the window.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt. I just—”
“I know why you’re here,” he said, turning to face me fully.
I’d expected him to be angry or defensive, to try to argue his way out of accountability for what he’d done, but instead, he just seemed so tired. Not just the kind of tired that came with little sleep, either. I doubted this was about him spending the night tossing and turning.
To me, it seemed deeper. The term bone weary came to mind. I almost offered him a hug, but then I remembered who he was and that he’d practically tried to trade me away like a baseball card.
“Trent came to speak to me,” he said after just staring into my eyes for a few beats. “Twice.”
I nodded slowly, knowing, of course, that Trent had spoken to my dad, but I hadn’t known he’d been here again. “He did?”
“Oh, yes.” A small, dry smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Both times, he stood right in front of me, and both times, I saw the same thing. A man desperately in love.”
My pulse jumped. Trent and I hadn’t talked about the L-word at all, but something warm and bubbly took up residence behind my ribs at the thought.
“I was curious what he would do with that passion,” Dad admitted after a brief pause. “How he’d channel all that righteous indignation and protectiveness. I wanted to know if it was just noise.”
“And?” I whispered, my heart now pounding in my throat. “Did he pass whatever test that was supposed to have been?”
“He proved he’s worthy of marrying the first Westwood woman born in several generations.” My father’s voice softened in a way I hadn’t heard since I was a child. “Worthy of you.”
I stared at him, blinking rapidly, so stunned that I could barely formulate words for a long minute. It was jarring to hear that my dad thought my husband was desperately in love with me. It was even more so to find out that Trent had shown him the possessive, protective side of himself.
Trent’s fierce, unshakeable intensity, his willingness to step in the line of fire without hesitation, wasn’t for show. It wasn’t bravado. It was love and my father had seen it before I even knew to look.
Dad stepped closer, not quite touching me but close enough that I could feel the weight of his regret. “I’ve made mistakes, Charlotte. Big ones. I didn’t mean to. I thought I was protecting this family, but I never stopped to consider how that might hurt you. I’m sorry.”
The apology, offered willingly and of his own accord, hit me harder than the one I’d planned on demanding. My eyes burned with the recognition that he was finally stepping up to the plate as a father in the wrong, my voice shaking with the magnitude of what that meant.
“I just needed you to see me.”
“I always saw you,” he said softly. “I just didn’t understand what I was looking at, my beautiful little girl.”
Something soft and comforting bloomed in my chest, not forgiveness—at least not entirely—but perhaps this was the beginning of it. A crack in the wall that would let a little light through from now on.
I nodded once, slowly. “Okay, Daddy. It’s okay. I know you didn’t mean to hurt me.”
Dad exhaled, almost sagging in relief. “Okay.”
He and I kept looking at each other, and for the first time since everything had exploded, I felt the world settle back into place. Not perfectly and it certainly hadn’t been painless but things felt like they made sense again.
Trent had handled everything else, but now, I’d finally confronted the one person who’d hurt me the most. I just needed to know one last thing. “Were you taunting Trent? Was that what all this with Gregory was about, just a test?”
“No, sweetheart.” Dad smiled softly, which surprised me, and shook his head. “I’ve known your husband for years. Since before you were old enough to really even know who he was. The boy has always been a hothead. That temper of his sits right under the skin.”
His smile deepened with something that looked oddly like fondness. “But seeing him break for you? Seeing him come apart because he thought someone was threatening what was his?” He pumped his eyebrows at me. “I heard about the elevator and the incident with the pigs.”
I slapped my hand over my face. “Oh my God.”
“That’s a man who would go to the deepest level of hell and fight his way out for a woman, and that’s always been what you deserved.”
He paused then, his expression shifting to something heavier.
“In my mind, you’ve always been my princess.
My only daughter. Gregory would have given you an actual title.
If Trent was going to be the reason you didn’t have that, the boy damn sure had to prove that he would love you in a way no one else could. ”
As I looked back at him, it was like I could see the old idea the moment he said it, the fantasy that had probably lived in his head since long before this modern version of our lives. A father wanting the world to bow for his little girl.
Except that fantasy was never mine. Not once.
“I didn’t want a title, Daddy,” I said softly. “I’ve never cared about any royal nonsense either. All I wanted was your attention. That would always have been enough for me.”
The words slipped out before I could stop them and they hung in the stillness of the room, small, fragile, and way too honest. Dad and I never talked like this, and he winced when I did it now, but suddenly, when his gaze dropped back to that picture of my mother on the desk, it all made perfect sense.
The distance. The coldness. The unreachable parts of him.
I’d blamed myself for years, assuming I’d fallen out of his line of sight because I was the youngest. Because I was a girl.
Because I hadn’t joined the company. I’d come up with a million different reasons why he might treat me the way he did.
Now, however, standing here, I suddenly understood how deep Mom’s death had carved into him. He’d never remarried. Never dated and never even entertained the idea of really moving on.
My mother had been it for him. Period.
“I’m sorry,” he finally murmured, the words ragged and rough. “I handled the Gregory business poorly. It was foolish of me. I should’ve listened to your brothers and your husband, for that matter.”
My chest squeezed so tight, I thought my ribs might break, but I didn’t yell, lecture, or launch into the speech I’d practiced in the car. I just stepped forward and hugged him, my poor father who’d lost the love of his life so, so young and had been left with seven children to care for.
At first, he went stiff, startled, but then slowly, he leaned into me. His arms came around me, hesitant but solid when he pulled me closer. For a few long minutes, we just held on to each other and it felt like something long overdue was realigning.
He cleared his throat after we eventually pulled apart and gestured toward the hallway. “Come. I have something for you in my study.”
I followed him there. He opened a drawer, pulled out a slim envelope, and handed it to me. “That’s the inheritance letter as well as your five percent share of Westwood & Sons.”
I blinked down at it. I didn’t need this. Trent had made that clear. We could build an entire life without a cent of Westwood money, but Dad had given me this not as a bargaining chip, not as a bribe, and not as leverage, but as acknowledgment that it was mine.
So I took it quietly, folded the envelope, and tucked it into my purse. As I lifted my head to say goodbye, something on the wall behind his desk caught my eye. One of the polaroids from our drunken Vegas wedding was pinned to it.
Instantly, I frowned. “What? Why?”
He gave a gruff shrug. “It’s a good picture.”
My lips parted, but no sound came out. I had no idea what to do with that. None. Except I couldn’t help the small, stunned, incredulous smile that spread on my lips.
When I got back to the apartment after my visit, the smell of coffee hit me the second I opened the door. Trent was in the kitchen, barefoot with his hair a mess, one hand braced on the counter as he scrolled through something on his phone.
He looked like home before he’d even turned around, but when I dropped a bag of donuts on the island and he glanced up, I felt the pure, undeniable love I had for this man.
As soon as he saw my face, he set down his phone and leaned back, cocking a hip against the counter and studying me with slow, amused suspicion.
“So,” he drawled. “What foundation are you donating all your money to?”
I blinked hard. “How did you know?”
“Your smile is very loud.” He winked at me and tapped his temple. “I’d also like to think it’s because I’ve gotten to know you just a little bit.”
I laughed, the sound bright and uncontained, and I walked straight into his arms, answering his question with my voice muffled by his chest. “All of the charities. That’s who I’m giving it to, every last one that I can actually help.”
His arms cinched around me, strong and certain, and in that moment, everything felt so right that I suddenly knew we’d always been meant to weather this storm together. Trent Shepard and I had fought for us. For our future. For our home and our ridiculous, unexpected, perfect-for-us love.
We’d fought for it, and now that we’d finally made it to the other side, I knew all the way to my bones that neither of us would ever let it go.